Poetry in Motion
by MissGriss
Summary: The death of a poet uncovers Grissom's secret talent. GSR


**A/N**- I'm surprised I could remember how to upload a fic it's been so long. Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed Love in the Dark, you were all really encouraging. There is a sequel on the way :) As usual, reviews would be much appreciated!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own CSI but I am working on a time machine that will take me back to before it was created so that I can come up with the idea :)

**Poetry in Motion-Chapter 1**

The colourful sign on the door read 'Welcome to High Point, where the coffee is hot, the talk is free and the days are long. We're open 24 hours and a visit here will be the high point of your day!"

But the doors were closed for the first time in the two years this humble coffee shop had been in business. Inside, anxious customers were being questioned by police officers over a recently committed murder.

In the dimly lit back corridor of the shop, a man lay dead. Blood carpeted the floor around his body and his, once expressive, features were still beneath his wayward hair. Chocolate brown eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling tiles while his smart, white shirt was stained with a mixture of blood and blue ink.

He had been stabbed through the heart and neck with a fountain pen that was now lodged in his chest, holding a piece of paper to his body.

Grissom stood over the lifeless form, studying the scene before beginning the collection of evidence. And Jim Brass was busy interviewing customers in the main part of the shop.

For Grissom, this was just another DB at the start of yet another busy night shift. But even he had to admit that the use of a pen was odd. Although he had seen a pen used as a weapon before, this was different. Whereas before the pen was a weapon of opportunity this was very much intentional.

Not only was there a clear statement in the way the pen had penetrated his heart but no expense had been spared in this act of violence. The pen used was an expensive brand used by only the wealthiest of professional writers or rich amateurs. This fact suggested that this was a very personal crime.

Treading carefully around the body, Grissom checked the wound on the victim's neck and discovered that this was the source of the blood on the floor and sprayed on the wall. And was certainly the first point of injury.

He opened his kit to retrieve his gloves, a brush and some powder to dust the pen. As he did so Sara and Nick arrived and he acknowledged their presence briefly before concentrating on the victim.

"Either he has really bad penmanship or someone needed a weapon... and quick." Sara hypothesised.

"Actually I think it was intentional." Grissom corrected offhandedly as he dusted.

Sara frowned. "So, where do you want us?"

"Nick, go see Brass. He's talking to the customers, find out what they know. And Sara, there's a bloody shoeprint over there, take photos and get an impression."

They both nodded their understanding and got to work.

Sara and Grissom were left alone in the dingy corridor, neither spoke as they worked around the victim. As she printed the floor, Sara watched Grissom for any sign of the openness they once shared when working on the same case. He didn't once look up from what he was doing and she was sure he was avoiding her gaze purposely.

It had been the same story of late, Grissom would practically ignore Sara in the lab, except to talk to her about a case. But then he would assign her to work nearly every case with him. She wondered why he would even do that if he was going to be so frosty towards her.

She was unable to stand the uncomfortable silence any longer. "So what do you think the note says?" She asked softly.

"I'd rather not assume anything at this point." Was his abrupt response.

She wished there could have been someone else in that small corridor to relieve the tension. It had always been difficult working with Grissom, the most innocent situations or touches would manifest inappropriate thoughts in Sara's head, but now she had to cope with his distant attitude as well. She tried again to fill the silence.

"Anyone going to the bathroom would have to walk through here. There was a lot of risk involved here considering how many people were in the shop."

Brass must have heard Sara's silent plea from a moment ago as he came wandering into the small space. "Hey guys, I've got an I.D on the vic. Name's Sean Poker. Appropriate for this town. Anyway, he came here tonight for, get this, a poetry reading. I wouldn't say he looked the type."

"And what type would that be?" Sara asked amused.

"I don't know, just always thought of people who write poetry as shy, little men with glasses and too much time on their hands."

"That's way too stereotypical of you Jim." Sara quickly countered. "I happen to think that poetry is underrated as an art form. If more people wrote down their emotions then maybe we'd have less crime."

"And here I was thinking you were a more action, less talk type of girl." Brass teased with a wink.

Understanding his insinuation she replied huskily, "I can be when I want to be."

Her comment, although in response to Jim, was really meant for Grissom but he didn't seem to be listening.

Had she looked a little closer, however, she would have seen Grissom's unconscious blush. He was thankful for the dim lighting as the vaguest suggestion of Sara's 'actions' was enough to get him thinking about things he shouldn't.

Brass moved to stand over Grissom. "Who kills with a pen?" He pondered out loud.

"They do say the pen is mightier than the sword." Grissom remarked wryly as he rose from the body.

He spun around as he suddenly heard the musical stylings of The Who singing 'Who are you?' somewhere inside the main part of the shop.

"Can you switch that radio off please?" He shouted towards the sound. After a minute or so the music stopped and he continued with his assessment of the body, eventually turning his attentions to Brass. "Who I.d'd the vic?"

"Coffee shop owner, Matt Heron." Grissom visibly thought at the name while Brass continued. "He's out front, making coffee like a madman."

"Sara," Grissom began. She looked up from taking the footprint impression and understood exactly what he was about to ask.

"I'll question him and I'll get Nick to look at everyone's shoes for traces of blood." She rose from the floor and followed Brass into the shop.

Grissom half smiled at her ability to always read his mind.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sara and Brass walked past the bright, retro style tables and large couches on their way to the coffee counter. They heard the quiet conversation of the scared but excited patrons. All talk was on the murder of less than an hour previously.

As they neared Matt Heron, Brass had a word of warning for Sara. "Whatever you do, don't ask him about the coffee beans."

Sara frowned, unsure of how that could be a bad thing.

"He won't stop. He's like Greg, only ten times worse."

Now she understood perfectly and decided talk of the beans would definitely be off limits.

Matt Heron was busily making steaming cups of coffee for the emotionally disturbed customers. He was moving speedily from one part of the counter to another and then back again, constantly grabbing cups from the shelf in front of him.

"Looks as though murder is good for business," Sara opened with.

The lean, dark haired man stopped briefly to wipe his hands on the blue 'High Point' apron he was wearing loosely. He poured another double expresso as he addressed her.

"Exact opposite actually, these are all free." He shrugged humbly, "It's the least I can do."

Sara took a quick glance at Brass who nodded for her to proceed.

"How well did you know the deceased?"

"I didn't." He answered quickly before shouting to a couple that their orders were ready.

"But you identified the body." Sara challenged.

"I didn't know him personally, is what I meant. Tonight was his first reading here but he's well known in poetry circles. Closest thing we've got to a celebrity since he just won the state championships."

"Championships?" Brass asked entertained.

"They were held about three weeks ago. At the moment it's quite an underground thing but in a couple of years I predict people will travel from all across the country to attend." He noticed their unconvinced looks. "Ok, maybe not but people don't come in here just for the coffee. Even if I do use the best beans around."

Realising something needed to be said quickly or Mr Gregx10 would ramble on about the coffee, Sara spoke. "So they come for the poetry?"

"Yeah. Every Thursday we run an open mic night. Generally the same people show up week after week so I know most of them, few newbies tonight though. And Sean Poker arrived during one girl's reading and kinda stole the show." He paused in thought and Sara pushed him to continue.

"When did he go out back?"

"Oh, after his reading he went for a smoke and I didn't see him after that. But I was busy so didn't really think about it."

"Is that the only door to the back area?" Brass asked.

"There's a back door but I'm the only one with a key."

"Ok Mr Heron, thanks for your help. We're going to have to take a look at your shoes though."

"Fine. Can I offer you a coffee?" Sara declined politely. "You sure? I mean everyone around here calls me PapaCino because of my coffee-making expertise."

"I'm sure it's great but no thank you. Now about your shoes."

Just as he took his first shoe off, Grissom walked through the doorway into the main shop. "Brass," he called and the police captain went to him.

Sara shone her flash light on the soles of the shoes.

"Is that guy over there called Gil?" Matt asked as she squinted at the black rubber of the left shoe.

"You know him?" She replied with suspicion evident in her tone.

He narrowed his eyes to look at the man in the distance but it didn't help. "We used to have a guy read here sometimes who looked just like him. He had a really beautiful way with words. Really amazing."

Sara laughed discreetly,she wouldn't exactly class _From Grissom _as an amazing use of the English language so figured he must have mistaken Grissom for someone else. But she did wonder as she picked up the other shoe and studied it closely in an attempt to show no emotion. "Then what happened?"

"I guess he lost his muse because he hasn't been here for months."

She clicked the light off and put the shoes back on the floor. There were no traces of blood so were not the shoes they were looking for.

"You can put your shoes back on Mr. Heron."

He stepped into the shoes and Sara walked towards Nick by the couches. All the while she was wondering about Grissom's poetic talents. She knew he was an intelligent man who liked to read but she never saw him as being particularly creative. She always figured he was strictly a left brain type of guy.

She did realise it made sense for a man who found it difficult to express himself verbally to write down his thoughts and feelings. She wondered if his poetry would be the key to unlocking the mystery of Gil Grissom.

She continued to think about this rare snippet of information about Grissom's private life as she talked to Nick. "We've got a bloody footprint, so checking shoes is our priority."

"Race ya," Nick smirked.

"You know Nick, I'm not like Warrick. I don't accept a challenge at every opportunity."

"You're still annoyed about last week."

Sara pretended not to know what he was talking about. "The mugging case in the park when I said I'd find the lost diamond ring before you, and I did." He gestured with his hand and gave a look of aggravation knowing full well she remembered.

She exaggerated her mock realisation. "Oh that. Yeah I let you have that one since I knew the woman had her eye on you."

"What can I say? I'm Nick Stokes, I come to the aid of those in need." He delivered the line proudly in his southern drawl. "I can't help it if the ladies love me."

"That's a good motto." She smiled broadly before adding, "you know she was a man, right?"

Nick let his jaw drop. "What?" He began to stutter as he followed Sara to the small crowd of people sitting at the tables. "But...she...her...I" His mind clicked. "She did have a strong handshake."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Grissom was still busy working around the dead man's body as Jim Brass looked on having been pulled away from questioning a witness.

"I found this picture in his wallet." Grissom handed the candid snapshot to his one time boss.

It was a picture of the deceased and an attractive younger woman. They were smiling brightly in an embrace that easily indicated they were very good friends or lovers. He was also holding a trophy with the words 'State Champion' engraved on the metal.

Brass perused the image. "The guy wasn't married but I'll check around with the poetry posse out there to see if anyone knows her."

Grissom was now in the process of bagging the expensive pen. Carefully, he pulled it from the wound and placed it into a plastic bag. He then moved onto the piece of folded up paper and bagged that.

Brass looked at him as if he was crazy. "You're not going to read it," He moaned. He had witnessed Grissom's work so many times he shouldn't have been surprised.

"I don't want to erase any evidence Jim."

"But aren't you the least bit interested in what it says?"

"Yes. But I can stand the mystery a little longer than you."

Brass rolled his eyes. "I bet you were one of those kids who never took a sneak at his Christmas presents before the day arrived."

"Why would I want to ruin the surprise?" Grissom asked truly baffled.

Brass just snorted his response as he left the odd scientist to his work.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Nick and Sara hadn't had any luck finding blood on anyone's shoes. They had checked almost everyone and were beginning to lose hope. They asked for what seemed like the millionth time to see a customer's shoes.

This time it was a rather timid looking woman whose eyes were red from crying. She stepped out of her shoes with her head bowed low and Nick checked the soles quickly.

Shaking his head dejectedly at Sara he let out his frustrations. "What if the killer was someone who walked in off the street, killed him then left unnoticed? We've checked all the shoes and there's nothing even remotely resembling blood here." Although he had been whispering the shy woman had heard his rant.

"Did you speak with the man in the green shirt?" She spoke so quietly that neither Nick or Sara heard the words.

"I'm sorry Ma'am. What did you say?" Nick urged her gently.

She lifted her eyes briefly and looked from Sara to Nick and then back to the floor. "There was a man who was extremely agitated when Mr Poker was reading. He was wearing a green shirt and he seemed to be heckling throughout his poetry."

"Is that man still here now?" Nick wondered aloud and the woman glanced around the room, taking in every face she could see.

"He's not. But the lady he sat with is over there, in the pink blouse. The remedy to his inner torment." She added thoughtfully.

"What's that?" Sara queried bewildered.

"She calmed him when it got too much. Then he went to the bathroom and everything seemed resolved."

Sara and Nick exchanged perceptive glances and she was the first to voice their joint conclusion. "Was this before or after Mr Poker went out back?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps after but I can't be certain," the woman squeaked back.

"Thank you Miss..."

"Stahl. Lisa Stahl," she supplied to Nick who wrote the name down. Sara was already on her way to talk to Mr. Green shirt's chaperone when he noticed her missing.

As he moved to follow her, Grissom came out of nowhere to stop Nick in his tracks. "Nicky, my boy, it's back to the lab we go."

"Sure Griss, I just gotta help Sara to..."

Grissom interrupted him before he could finish the thought. "She'll be fine." He eyed Sara in the distance. The Distance, he thought, she _was_ always in the distance.

But that was how he could cope, if she was at more than arm's reach he couldn't do anything about his feelings. He could look but not touch and he seemed to think that was enough for him. Or he had convinced himself that it was enough.

TBC


End file.
